The Summer of Pine Cone Ale

The summer when we were young

Quiet, except the running feet closing in.

A rare summer breeze to ripple the stream.

Dirt stained shirts and muddied bare feet

Amongst the land of curious creatures.

A group of children, in all their glory,

Looking the way the Lord created them to be;

Giggles and whistling through missing teeth and all.

The stream, a lively thing,

Mimicking oceans for the young pirates to sing

And brandish their pine cone mugs of ale.

A quick tumble in the dirt between a boy and girl

As she claimed her place in the crew,

Solidifying that she was just as fierce

As the rest of her band of comrades

Not some silly ship cook.

The sun sets as contemplation is made

Of how angry parents may be

If they stayed a little longer after all.

Author's Note

I hope we all have at least one childhood memory of something similar to this.

Reviews

[Die Schwarz Lacheln]

I cannot claim to understand it totally, but it is a powerful poem that triggers an avalanche of memories of a wonderful time gone by.